One Chance Behind Her
by Alliecallienip
Summary: Another Minerva McGonagall fic. This is a little odd, but bear with me...um, I like the Muses in it. It's short, so go ahead and read/review, mmm?


**One Chance Behind Her**

Professor M. McGonagall stared glumly into a mug of steaming hot black   
coffee. Seated - alone - in her private quarters at three o'clock in the   
morning, she was musing most glumly over the events of the previous day.   
Rarely could anyone find her in such a mood - she was, although strict and   
quite realistic, an optimist. Her morose state was caused by a trivial   
episode in the day - hardly anything to be upset about, or so she told   
herself. A favourite student of hers, named Andorra Mieruski, had a   
detention weighing on her young shoulders, simply because she had been   
penning in a much-loved journal when Minerva had assigned them to be reading   
in their Transfiguration books.

Normally, the ordinary act of disciplining a student wouldn't bring her down.   
But this time, the sight of a dog-eared book full of the scribbles of a   
young girl's heart had resurfaced the memory of another journal. A journal   
from fifty years before.

Minerva slammed her thoughts short right there. _I will not think of that_,   
she told herself strictly, then drank from her mug, trying desperately to   
drown the small pang of hurt that arose. But no matter how hard she tried,   
still the memory came, flooding every sense and emotion she had, until she   
was weeping softly at the pain of remembrance.

Fifty years ago. . .

Fifty years ago, when she was younger and had just begun her teaching   
position at Hogwarts. Fifty years ago, when Akon -

_No._

But the memories persisted, whether she wanted them or not.

When Akon had left.

She wiped away her tears angrily and lifted her chin in defiance of the past.   
She hadn't needed him. She had gotten along just fine by herself. It did,   
she grudgingly admitted to herself, sting a bit that she hadn't heard from   
him in so long. The teacher rose mechanically and refilled the coffee cup,   
gulping it down nearly as quickly as it filled. After half a cup more,   
however, she simply left it be, steam rising and disappering just as fast.   
She stared silently into the coffee as it cooled, fighting back tears.

_Oh, Akon..._

~*~

Loretta Jawwok, Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, woke in her bed   
at quarter to three, slightly confused as to what had woken her. She stared   
at the ceiling for several minutes before shrugging and rolling over,   
attempting to drift back into slumber, but it eluded her. Eventually she   
gave up, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and stood.

Loretta was young, perhaps around thirty, with thick blonde hair and dark   
brown eyes, short, and with a curvy figure that had attracted the most   
unwanted attention of a certain Professor Snape. She shuddered slightly as   
she thought of the man - sneaky, devious, and cruel, he was everything she   
was NOT - and everything she despised. Figuring that she was unlikely to get   
any more sleep that night, Jawwok bathed quickly before dressing herself in   
her usualy royal blue robes. She pulled her fabulous hair back into a thick   
ponytail and brushed a small amount of eyeshadow and blush on before kissing   
her lips with the touch of a dark lipstick tube.

Now she was ready - with no place to go. She stared up at the ceiling for a   
few minutes more before something inside her nudged - _go to Minerva._

She blinked.

Minerva? McGonagall? The woman was sweet enough, surely, but Loretta always   
had the distinct impression that she was being colder than she needed to be.   
It was obvious, at least to the younger witch, that Professor M. McGonagall   
liked nothing better than to be left to her own devices - and yet, she was   
filled with a compulsive urge to go to her. Odd. No, she decided, this was   
more than odd, this was downright peculiar. Still . . .

She chewed on her lower lip for a moment before making up her mind - _I'll   
just check to see if she's asleep, which of course she will be. Just glance   
at her door to see if the light's on. Then I'll come back to bed, feeling   
positively foolish for running around on wild goose chases at three o 'clock   
in the morning, when I need to be resting. Stupid Muse._

She glared up towards the ceiling, where an entity of pure blue light   
hovered, no larger than a cat. It was dark blue with streaks of every other   
shade of the color swirled in, not to mention a touch of white and black. It   
pulsed rhythmically, almost as a heartbeat, and was constantly in motion, the   
colours swirling and dancing and interchanging every moment, making it quite   
dizzying to look at for an extended period of time. Jawwok clucked her   
tongue at it and wagged a finger.

"Mrre, Mrre, was it thee that waked me?"

The Muse throbbed innocently, and again the witch felt the touch against her   
heart. _Minerva...._

_But that makes no sense_, Loretta argued half-heartedly. Mrre's form   
stretched, growing longer - a sure sign that she was aggravated. _Alright,   
I'm going!_

She shook her head slightly, sighed, and slipped into the empty hallway,   
padding towards the small room she knew belonged to Minerva McGonagall . . .

~*~

At the first sound of footsteps Minerva started, straining her ears. Soft,   
and feminine . . . heading this way . . . she frowned lightly as they stopped   
directly outside of her door. She bit her lip. After a moment, a gentle,   
nervous knock sounded - and the Professor called, just as softly, " - Come   
in..."

Confusiion flitted across her eyes as she saw Loretta. She batted it away   
impatiently, her fingers getting slightly tangled in the emerald green   
strains of her own Muse, who headed towards the ceiling to sulk. "May I help   
you, Professor Jawwok?" she asked, more impatiently than she felt. She   
glanced at the clock on the wall, a Muggle one that she had recieved as a   
gift a decade before.

"Ah...Well...please call me Loretta," the younger witch stammered, then   
cursed herself slightly for sounding the fool. "That is - Not really. I   
couldn't sleep and wondered it, perhaps, you wished for a little company..."   
she trailed off uncomfortably.

Minerva frowned slightly. "Loretta, then..." She was tempted to know how   
the other had known she was still awake at such an ungodly hour, but   
refrained from asking. "Company would be lovely. May I offer you some   
coffee?"

"Please - with cream and sugar, if you have it..." Loretta flushed slightly   
when McGonagall shot her an I'm-A-TRansfiguration_Teacher,-Remember? Look and   
chuckled.

Suddenly, she felt Mrre's presence in her mind and she scowled. :_WHAT are   
you doing in here?:

|_Ask her about the hope chest._|

:_What kind of answer is that?_:

|_Ask her about the journal._|

:_Are you trying to play God again or something?_:

|_Ask her about the hope chest._|

:_Why should I?_: she began, but before she could finish the thought, Mrre   
had extracted herself from her Mistress's mind and Loretta returned to the   
present moment to find Minerva staring at her with a peculiar statement on   
her face.

"Are you alright?" she asked for what Loretta realized with embarrassment   
must have been the third or fourth time. A smile quirked at the Professor's   
lips, and Loretta blushed slightly.

"Fine...just got a bit distracted..." She took the coffee Minerva held out to   
her eagerly, as it gave her something to do; something to hold. McGonagall   
lifted her own cup to her unpainted lips, sipping at the lukewarm coffee.   
Loretta let her eyes travel around the small living quarters, taking in the   
modest bed with the typical chest at the foot...sturdy wooden desk and chair,   
neatly organized....blank walls and spotless wooden floor...and over in the   
corner, a small, ornately carved hope chest, made of perfect cedar. "What's   
that?" she questioned, pointing before she could stop herself. Mrre had   
piqued her curiosity, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

Minerva followed Loretta's finger. "That? Oh...here, let me show you." She   
rose from her seat on the side of the bed and strode to the corner where the   
hope chest was tucked. She knelt, and hesitated for a brief moment before   
lifting it carefully and carrying back to the main section of the room,   
setting it carefully on the desktop.

Loretta leaned forward and blew off a thin layer of dust.

Minerva smiled, slightly self-conscious for the first time Jawwok had ever   
seen her. Hesitantly she lifted the lid of the miniature trunk.

A delicious smell of cedar rose into the room, bringing a smil to both   
witches' faces. The inside of the chest was lined with emerald green velvet,   
and nestled perfectly in the center rested a dog-eared, homemade journal.   
The front cover, which was all that was visible, was covered in drawings and   
sketches of only the most beautiful magical creatures - dragons, unicorns,   
pegasus, mermaids, faeries . . .

Jawwok drew a breath. "Wow," she said finally, after several minutes.   
"Whose is it?" She glanced up - then started in surprise. Minerva was   
crying again, silently, silvery tears slowly trailing down her cheeks.

"It - was Anok's," she said quietly, and Loretta looked blank.

Minerva drew a deep breath, and wiped away her tears. "Let me tell you a   
story..."

"There once was a young witch named Minerva. She was over-achieving and   
ambitious, a top student at Hogwarts and certain that nothing stood in her   
way to becoming first a Professor, then the Headmistress of Hogwarts. When   
she was in her seventh year, a wizard named Anok Nkul transferred from   
Beauxbaton. He was handsome, fair, and romantic - and Minerva was   
fascinated. She had never truly had time for boys before, but Anok had   
captured her imagination - and, after only a few months, her heart as well.

"They dated for nearly five years before he proposed, and when he did, she   
was ecstatic. But, only a week after they became engaged, he was drafted for   
the second World War - and she had to stand by helplessly as he prepared to   
fight against Germany. She didn't want him to go, of course, she wanted him   
to stay with her so they could get married like they had planned. They told   
each other that they had waited seventeen years to meet each other, and   
another five before finally becoming one, and this setback was only   
temporary. But she was still heartbroken the day he left.

"Anok was an avid journal-keeper - he wrote everything in a tattered,   
dog-eared journal he had made when he was ten. His emotions, drawings,   
poetry, memories - everything was captured in that book. It was his most   
prized possession. In fact...Minerva often wondered whether the journal   
meant more to him than she did, although he assured her this was not the   
case. On the morning he left...he left his journal on my - on Minerva's   
doorstep, encased in this cedar hope chest with a single red rose resting on   
the lid. She treasured it...but she never heard from Anok again."

An ironic smile quirked at the story-teller's lips as she wound up her tale.   
"He called it his 'Visual Soul' . . . I think it even had a name, but I don't   
remember..."

Loretta listened keenly. "You never heard from him again?" she repeated in   
almost disbelief. "That's horrible."

Mineva forced herself to shrug casually. "It's alright. I suppose - we   
never were in love....we just pretended we were. I suspect he met a pretty   
young nurse on the battlefield and took her to his bed, then wed her after   
the war." She kept her voice carefully neutral.

"Still..." Jawwok sighed in sympathy. Suddenly, the clock on the wall chimed   
three thirty, and both witches jumped, then laughed nervously. "Well...I   
should be going..." the young Professor said uncomfortably, standing from her   
seat at the wooden desk. "Thank you for your hospitality..."

"Most welcome," Minerva echoed, obviously lost in thought again.

With a stiff nod goodnight, Loretta Jawwok backed from the room, mentally   
cursing her Muse for pulling her into a situation that was OBVIOUSLY *none*   
of her business.

After she had gone, McGonagall sat thoughtfully on the corner of her bed, the   
hope chest beside her. She reached in and gently stroked the edge of the   
journal. _I never have read it clear through,_ she thought absently,   
desperately ignoring the love-pangs shooting through her heart. She picked   
up the journal for the first time in a decade or more. _I remember...for the   
first year after he left, I carried this with me everywhere. Then I kept it   
on my dresser...then, when the war ended, I put it back in the chest and   
moved it to that corner..and only looked at it when I was in a melancholy   
mood, remembering him. Lord, I loved him..._ She turned the cover.

Three hours later, the sun was beginning to creep up as she finished the last   
entry, her head pounding as she struggled not to give in to tears. It was   
everything she had imagined it to be - it was, indeed, his visual Soul. It   
was like talking to him again. It was, she decided, bittersweet - and she   
didn't look forward to doing it again.

A small slip of paper fluttered to the geound as Minerva closed the journal,   
almost slamming the covers together in her valiant effort to remain   
emotionless. Creased and yellowed with age, the note was folded tightly into   
quarters. Minerva frowned, stooped, and picked it up. Akon's familiar   
cramped handwriting met her eyes, "Minerva" penned carefully on one side.   
With trembling hands the professor unfolded the fifty-year-old paper. Her   
eyes welled with tears as she read the opening - "My beloved Minerva:" As she   
continued reading, her body, held stiff with pride, began trembling   
violently. Her grey eyes were opened wide in shock and horror - her mouth   
opened in a silent howl of anguish - She fellt heavily to her knees,   
clutching the letter to her chest, screaming hysterically, but silently -   
fervent sobs forcing their way out from behind her clenched teeth - she   
shrieked and wailed, burning tears coursing down her cheeks as she forced   
herself to reread the letter - and reread - and reread - and reread -__

_My beloved Minerva ~_   
_ Perhaps it is wrong of me to test you like this, but I must know_   
_whether you truly love me. If you read this journal - my visual Soul - you_   
_will find this note. I pray you do. I am not going, my darling. They did_   
_not need me. Now I know you honestly and without fail love me - and now we_   
_can be together forever, like we dreamed. So please, beloved, come and kiss_   
_me and we will at last be wed. O, my love, at last we will be together_   
_always - I am here. I have stayed.___

_Forever yours, my darling,_   
_Akon_   



End file.
